Forgive Me My Sins
by SignsofSam
Summary: When Dean is hurt because of Sam, will there be anything left to save?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Forgive Me My Sins **

**Rating: T for swearing**

**Summary: when dean is hurt because of sam, will there be anything left to save? **

**Author's notes: This is a two-shot. I'm not really sure if I like it, but I thought I'd post it anyway. Also, I do use 'bitch' a lot. And I hope that the title connects with the story-to me, it seemed the best fit. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own. Damn.**

**Part One**

_The car had been on the road for nearly seventy-two hours. Driving straight, without stopping for anything except gas and the occasional bathroom break. In the backseat of the black Impala, a duffle of guns sat open, ready, waiting. _

_"You're still bleeding," Sam whispered, pressing on the bandage on his brother's side. Dean smacked the hand away, looking a the red-soaked bandage. _

_"It'll make it to Bobby's."_

_Sam nodded absentmindedly, pushing brown hair out of his eyes. "What was that? What did we miss?" he murmured, hands shaking as he leafed through the book on his lap. It was first time Dean noticed the blood stained on his brother's hands. "We had to miss something."_

_"Sam…"_

_"No, Dean! We had to miss something! It was supposed to be easy, simple…a little possession. The whole town was dead." Sam jumped as Dean's phone rang, and Dean stared at his brother, a little perturbed, before fishing the phone-gently- from his leather jacket. He glanced at the number, shaking his head once, before opening it. "Hello?'_

_"Like my little trick back in Nowheresville, Dean?" _

_"Who are you?"_

_"Let's just call me…Ginger… Mary…the Professor…"_

_"Are you just gonna go through the cast of_Gilligan's Island _or do you actually have something to say, bitch?" Sam looked at the phone mouthing "__**Demon**__?" at his brother, who nodded._

_"Heading to your friends? Bobby…whatever…?"_

_"I swear to God, if you touch a hair on his head-"_

_"I'm not interested in the old man, Dean, so you can just shut your mouth and listen. You're going to die, and it's gonna be long and slow and painful and I'm gonna sit there and watch…and then, I'm gonna kill Sam."_

_"In that order? How original. Get in line, lady."_

_"You think you're so funny, but everyone's laughing at you, not with you. Because they all know you're a loser, and they all know that you're side is going to lose. And that's just how it is. Now, how's my little Sammy?" Dean remained quiet, and Sam knew he was angry because the vein on his forehead was popping. "Silence-the voice of defeat."_

_"Or a smart man that's about to kick your ass."_

_"I highly doubt you are either, Dean. You are so like your father. Did I tell you we met? In hell? Well, he was proving what a little _boy_ he was, just like you will-" _

_"Shut up! Don't you say anything like that!"_

_"Aww, is poor wittle Dean scared? Gonna die like his daddy and no one will care-"_

_"Get over yourself, bitch. I'm going to die a warrior. I've known that from the start." Sam looked up, concern and worry marring his face. _

_The demon's laugh was cruel, callous, the epitome of all Dean feared wrapped up. "You? A warrior's death? You will die like a coward, just like your old man."_

_Dean's knuckles were white as he gripped the phone, but he tried to keep his face cool and calm. He needn't worry Sam about the demon's bad-talk. He wasn't sixteen anymore; this wasn't supposed to affect him. He took a minute to calm the voice inside his head, the one repeating the demon's accurate description of his death, before putting the phone back to his ear. "What do you want?"_

_"I just thought I'd be nice and tell you that this is the last time you'll see Sam again. You might want to say good bye."_

_Dean stared at the phone as the dial tone sounded furiously, clearly confused, before turning to his baby brother to rant about the demon bitch-_

_Except Sam's face was a look of shock and horror and when Dean turned his head to look at the road, his only thought was that he hadn't gotten to tell Sam goodbye._

_-----------_

The house had probably been beautiful years before. It was a Victorian-style three story mess-of-a-place, with two towers at either end, a wrap around porch on the bottom level. It had since been condemned, the roof over the porch collapsed in some places, overgrowth on pieces of the wrought-iron fence surrounding the property.

The demon had long fingernails, nails she loved to dig in one of Dean's wounds until he screamed and arched his back in pain and agony. She would torture him slowly, pushing the nail in, scratching it around lightly, through skin, muscle, whatever it happened to be near at the moment. Then, she'd pull the nail out, at a snail's pace, until just the tip was in the wound, before shoving it back in again. 

His t-shirt was soaked with blood, and it ran down his arms, dripping off tied fingertips, pooling beneath the chair. He wondered how much blood it was-was it making a pretty design or just falling into a plain puddle before rivulets broke off through the grooves in the wooden floor.

He wondered how long it had been-a day? Two?- and he thanked whatever lived in the sky above that Sammy hadn't tried to do something rash, something foolish. He didn't need his little brother to get killed on account of him. It didn't matter what happened to him, as long as Sam was safe. He could die, but as long as Sam was out of harm's way, it wouldn't matter whether he died valiantly or like a coward. 

A hard slap across his face brought him back to reality. He could feel the slashes on his face, three thin marks that weren't deep but hurt like the devil. He bit his bottom lip as pain flooded, but he refused to bend, to break, like he did when she stuck those _talons_ in him. He refused to let her see that he was totally broken.

"There's my warrior. I've got a question for my prize: where's your oh-so-precious brother?" the demon's seductive voice whispered in his ear, her mouth lightly biting his earlobe. He hated this-the teasing/torturing thing she did, and the fact that she looked like a hot twenty-something he could pick up in a bar did not help matters in the least.

"Go to hell, bitch," he bit out, past the pain, past the feeling of failure, touching through to the last shred of pride and dignity he had. 

"Oh, sweetie, been there, done that," she replied in a bored voice, circling his chair. 

His voice rang out as her finger pierced his neck, just a little, not nearly as deep as some of the wound on his chest and arms-hell, one time, she had jammed that damn nail clear through his left hand. This was nothing.

"Oh, look, I missed the jugular by _this_ much. Should we see if I can hit it this time?" she said, dragging her blood-stained nail up his jaw until it rested on his bottom lip. "Or is my prized bird ready to sing?"

What was with the name-calling shit? The warrior, the prize, the bird-what the hell did she think he was, a pet or something? 

"That's exactly it, Dean. You are my plaything, to do with what I wish," she whispered in his ear, and he finally realized that even his thoughts weren't safe. She could delve into them, find the deepest, darkest memory, and twist it to her advantage.

Holy shit.

Her finger entering his neck again brought him back to her, his blue eyes watching her as her own eyes darkened to black. "Pay attention, Dean!" she screamed, yanking his head up by his hair. "I will not be ignored! You will listen to me when I talk, and you will answer my questions!"

"Or what?" he said, coughing, seeing the blood spatter on his shirt. "You'll kill me? Honey, I'm not scared of that." 

He flinched when the chair went flying, his head and hands slamming into a wall that crumbled as the force of his body went through it. Obviously, his previous comment made her mad. He tried to smirk, but he was just too tired and too sore to accomplish even that tiny feat.

How was that for brave? How pathetic a warrior was he, giving up without a fight. When Sam found him-_if_ Sam found him-his younger brother would know that he didn't die with an ounce of honor, the coward and pathetic fool that so many demons accused him of being. He wasn't his father, he wasn't Sam, he wasn't great, a leader, the best of the best.

No, he was nothing.

With his resigned fate in tact, he finally fell, a broken, beaten man.

--------

Sam watched the building with the sharpness only a hunter could possess, his eyes watching for any sign of Dean.

He wanted to curl up and cry, to whine and complain, but mostly he wanted his big brother to come and save the day like he always did.

Sam never got why people thought he was the golden boy. Dean was always the one risking his life to save another, no matter the consequence. Dean was…he was everything Sam wished he could be.

And so much more.

Which was why Dean didn't deserve this-to be tortured and hurt when it was Sam the demon was really after. Why was Dean always the one to suffer because of Sam?

"Sam?" The boy jumped, eyes widening and heart pounding before he recognized Bobby in the night, coming towards him, a duffle on his shoulder.

"You brought it? Everything?"

Bobby nodded, handing the youngest Winchester the bag of weapons. Weapons for a war Sam wasn't prepared to wage. Not now. Not without Dean.

"And the Colt?"

"Here," Ruby replied, coming from the shadows to hand him the gun. "It took some _convincing_, but Bella kindly handed it over." She paused, looking up at the house. "You know how stupid this is, right? Running into that house blind? You don't know what's in there, if your brother's even alive…if it were him, I'm sure Dean would take a minute to plan-" She stopped talking as Sam cocked the Colt, leveling it at her. 

"If it were Dean, he would have already been in there, killed the demon, and saved my ass. I've waited and planned long enough. Now, either shut up and fight with us, or go away. I don't need, nor can I handle, your damn comments at the moment."

Ruby's mouth hung open, an eyebrow raised in question. Finally, she closed her mouth, and smirked. "Wow, Sam, you're really starting to sound like your brother there."

"Are you in or out?" he got out through bared teeth, barely glancing at Bobby, who gave a slight nod. When it came to Dean-or Sam, too- Bobby would give life and limb. As he had said before, those two boys were like his own sons, and with their daddy gone now, he was even more protective and even more willing to help.

No matter what the cost.

"Ruby?"

She held up her hands and he lowered the Colt. "Fine, fine, I'm in. But, I'm telling you now, don't expect too much. Arteithiwr, she doesn't take long to destroy what she takes."

Sam ignored her. He couldn't think that his brother was dead. If Dean was dead, what was there left for Sam to fight for? Why would Sam care to fight? He knew, logically, that the demons would never stop hunting him, but that didn't mean that he had to willingly fight. He would have lost all then-his mom, his dad, his brother, Jess-and would probably be praying for the day to come when he just didn't have to deal with it. 

"I suggest we enter through the front," Ruby continued on, ignoring Sam's lapse into la-la land. "A direct attack. If Dean's alive-and that is a really big if-she'll be…oh, what's the word she always used?…playing with him. Toying with him, more like it. She likes to pretend that they would all go for her, using some damning good looks that any twenty-something-year-old male would fall for-"

"Ruby! Not. The. Time!" Sam snapped, handing Bobby the sawed-off that Dean like so much. "Do you need a weapon too or are you good?" She smirked, pulling out the knife. Sam nodded, fingers itching around the Colt. "We get Dean, and we get out. If someone wants to stay and tangle with Arte-whatever, that's their business. However, getting my brother out is more important and is top priority. Bobby, is Ellen-"

"She's waiting for us with Doctor Hasmen. He won't ask questions and he's good," Bobby replied. "We'll get him back, Sam, don't worry. Just, we need to be careful, too. Dean'll kill you if you get yourself hurt."

Sam nodded, once again looking at the house.

_Don't worry, Dean, we're coming for you._

------

"Please, stop."

"Oh, is poor wittle Deany poo begging now?" The demon's long nail cut into his flesh, peeling off another piece. "Beg, Deany, beg."

Dean winced, nearly whimpered, but kept his mouth closed. He couldn't believe those two words had come out of his mouth. He wasn't one to quit-no matter how tired he was, or how hurt he was, or if he had had food in the past week and if he had money-he didn't quit.

Dad would be ashamed. Dean could see him now, cursing softly, but still in that gruff tone the boys were used to, telling his sont hat he could never give up-giving up was for cowards and John Winchester would be damned to hell before his sons turned cowards.

Funny thing, though, John Winchester had been to hell.

So Dean guessed that made everything okay.

And those words slipped out of his mouth again. "_Please, stop…_"

--------

For the first time since they discovered it, Sam was grateful for the Colt. Even when they used it to kill Yellow Eyes, Sam had hated the Colt because it stood for everything he was supposed to want. It stood for an end to demons and an end to evil while Sam just wanted to be normal. And the Colt was far, far, far from normal. 

But as a bullet went through the demon's skull, Sam smiled in thanks and sent a silent prayer to the dead Samuel Colt for the precious gift in his hands. He punched the demon blocking his pathway into the next room, grabbing it's neck and twisting. He knew that it really wouldn't stop the demon, but the adrenaline was pumping and he was anxious to find Dean. 

Bobby blows a salt bullet through another demon's shoulder, and it shouts, it seems like in Latin but in Sam's state he really isn't too sure. He continues into the house, deeper into the place where they tortured his brother, and he sees the blood that has spattered the floor and the broken pieces of wood that have fallen into a big puddle of blood, sending the blood flying and covering the splinters. 

Sam's frantically calling Dean's name, but the only answer is a shrill laugh. He turned to ruby, who nodded; that was indeed the demon, Arteithiwr, torturer in Welsh, Sam had found out with a little research. He would be diligent, geeky Sam after this, in the library, books about demons all around him, a pad of paper in front of him, meticulously copying notes and ways to slaughter it to add into John's journal later, for future references. As of now, the only thing they had done was quickly bless the bullets for the Colt with holy water, hoping that would be strong enough to send the bitch back to hell, where she belonged.

He entered a center room, and stopped. That…that….that_thing_ had Dean, hauled up against her. One of those damn nails was pressing against Dean's neck, but Sam doubted Dean could feel it. He could see the thoughts running through his brother's head-_Why the hell is he here? I don't want him here! I don't want to be saved!_

_You can't save me, Sam. No one can._

Where the hell had that come from?

"Sam! Don't think! She can read your mind!" Dean shouted, grunting as the thing ripped into one of the wounds on his side. 

"See, Dean, was that so hard? I knew Sammy would come-he's always having to save his older brother-"

Sam pulled the trigger, watching the bullet sail towards the thing, entering her skin, smoke rising as she screamed in pain. She dropped Dean, but came for him, knocking the gun out of his hand as her own hand gripped his neck, lifting him up, cutting off his breath. "How…how…"

"One bullet isn't going to do damage, Sammy, not when you've fought tooth and nail to get out of hell. One bullet isn't even going to come close. You see, one bullet-I barely feel the pain." She tightened her grip, and Sam grabbed onto her hand with both of his, trying to pull her arm away from his neck. "I'm going to crush your neck, then rip your head from your body so I can show them all that I've finally slain the Winchester brat. Well, brats. I'll take care of Dean, too, make sure he dies nice and slowly for all the trouble he's caused us-"

"Stay…stay away-" he averted his eyes, barely seeing Bobby entering the room before he was flown through the air, the old man's back slamming into a brick wall. Ruby…Ruby would save them-

"Ruby won't be coming anyway near me, Sam. Seems she's…_preoccupied_ with a Devil's trap."

"You…you bitch," he mumbled. He could feel the lights in his brain start to dim, one after another after another, before his eyes started to fall…

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

One after another, the shots were fired, and the demon's head jerked forward as they flew into her skull, poisoning the demon inside, killing it. Sam dropped as the hand around his neck was loosened, gasping for breath and trying to focus on the world that was spinning around him. Somehow, he managed to look up, and there was Dean, the gun in his shaky hands, a look of determination on his face. 

He had saved his brother one last time.

He'd done his job.

He collapsed on the floor, the whole world going dark, and prayed that he went to the light, prayed that he got to see Jess, his mom, his dad. 

He prayed that he went to the light.

Sam ran to the prone body, calling to a wobbly Bobby, who quickly made his way over. Sam's tears dripped on his brother's body as he frantically tried to find a pulse, a heartbeat-anything. Please, anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **Thank you for your reviews! This is the end, and I know it's short, but I like it so much better than what I was going to have happen (which would have been Dean dying, FYI). Since that obviously didn't happen-maybe I should be putting this at the end?-i'm much better. Feel free to review; it makes my day. I might actually be starting on a full-fledge _Supernatural_ story soon, but I've got an idea for a _One Tree Hill_ one stuck in my head and I won't be touching the _Supernatural _storyline until I get the other out, so I might have to make due with little one-shots and two-shots until then. I hope that's okay smiles

**Disclaimer**: If only I were Eric Kripke. Then my life would be complete. This means that _no, I do not own the rights, characters, or plots of _Supernatural_. Say it with me: Damn_.

**Rating: **maybe a K, if I'm being honest, for this chapter at least, but for the sake of my righting reputation, a T

Two: Alone

Dean had saved him thousands of times, selflessly, knowing he could die, and the one time he needed his brother, Sam hadn't been fast enough. He'd been too busy with Ruby, with Bobby, with everyone except Dean, and now his brother was paying the ultimate price. He remembered gripping the leather of Dean's jacket, shouting and screaming at Bobby, for Ruby, for someone to help.

He couldn't let his brother down. Dean meant too much, had lived _so_ little, and would die soon-Dean would not be killed now. Not so he could go to hell early.

Sam looked up, angry at his thoughts. It was the first time he had even had such a stupid thought. It was the first time he had really considered that Dean could die from this stupid deal he made with the proverbial devil.

"Here." Bobby handed the youngest Winchester a Styrofoam cup of coffee, black, with a look that said _you better well drink it_. Sam was tempted to resist-why should he drink it when he didn't know if Dean would live? but the man's look made him sip slowly. "He'll be all right, Sam."

"How do you know, Bobby? How does anyone know? He could be dead right now, and they're just…postponing the inevitable. And…"

"Sam, shut up. Dean's not dead! And if you say it again, I will belt you, you understand me, son?" Bobby snapped, lowering his voice as nurses and orderlies looked at him. "I know you're worried, but you can't think that-"

"Why not? He's gonna die anyway."

"Sam…"

"What? He has than a year-why does it matter if he goes now? He doesn't care, so why should I?"

"You stupid Winchesters! You're all about sacrificing youself, and then you don't think about what it's going to do to rest of you! Use your head, Samuel; it's what you went to Stanford for. He does care, but he doesn't want you to see how much he cares so you don't worry as much. Now, if you think that you can pull yourself together and be a man and act like I know you can, I think the doctor wants to talk to us. If not, sit there and shut up and act like a child." Bobby turned, stalking off toward the man who had just come out of the OR, pulling off his mask and tossing it in a trash can.

"Mr…Singer? If you'll come with me, I'll explain about your…nephew, wasn't it?"

Bobby nodded, glancing back at Sam, who turned the other way. "Stupid boy," he muttered, following the doctor back. "He's okay, isn't he?"

"He's…it's touch and go. He had deep puncture wounds to his neck, his chest, his sides-I had to do two skin grafts because he's missing skin. He dislocated his shoulder, and his ulna is broken in three places. He lost a lot of blood and his heart-it's giving out. We're monitoring it, but…I'm not sure he'll live through the night. Not with the stress that the wounds have put on his heart."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. You might want to prepare your youngest nephew to say goodbye to his brother. And if he has family-"

"They don't. Their dad died last year, and their Mom died when Sam was born. I'm the only one they have. Sam's going to be devastated…he's lost all their family…"

"I truly am sorry, and there's still a chance Dean will pull through. What happened out there?"

Bobby shrugged, feigning innocence. "The police aren't really sure. They're thinking that it was some kind of cult or something. Is this his room?"

"Yeah. We'll check on him every half hour, and I'll tell your other nephew where to find you is he wishes." Bobby nodded, opening the door to the small room. Dean wasn't asleep, his eyes at half-mast, hand habitually on the remote, flipping through the channels.

"Where's Sam?" he murmured, and Bobby winced at the awful rasp in his voice.

"He's waiting."

Dean shook his head, and Bobby could see tears staining his eyes. "He's mad at me."

"Dean-"

"I know he's mad at me, Bobby. I know I didn't do the right thing when it came to him, to today, but I'm just so tired of fighting and I'm tired of wishing I was already dead!"

"Dean, we don't-"

"It's coming. I can feel it, my heart starts skipping beats now and I know it's coming. And I don't want Sam to suffer anymore. So if something happens, and-I don't want them to wake me up. Just let me go."

"And what about Sam then? I know he's angry at you, but he will never forgive himself if you die without him being able to say goodbye," Bobby replied, sitting by Dean's bed. "And I know you wouldn't want him to live his life with that regret."

"I disappointed him. I-what am I supposed to say to make that better?"

"He'll forgive you, Dean. He'll always forgive you. You're his brother. He's needs you. You have to fight this-I know you don't think you'll live, but I think that deal has holes, somewhere, and you're gonna have to take a stand at some point or let it kill you. Since you made it, you've been in the middle, back and forth, no, I don't want to die but I'm ready for it if I do, and Dean, you can't be that way. You either have to stand up and say to hell with it and give the fight all you can, or you need to say, to tell Sam, to tell everyone, goodbye, and prepare him for a day when you won't be around to save his ass. That's it. That's all you can do."

Bobby patted Dean's knee, giving him a sad smile before standing up to go. "And Dean?" The young man looked up, and it was almost as if Bobby was looking at the goofy teenager, or the child this hunter had once been. "Don't think that Sammy's disappointed in you. If anything, he's disappointed in himself." Dean nodded, and Bobby left.

"He's alive, if you were wondering," Bobby snapped at Sam as he sat beside him, and the lanky man shrugged.

"Whatever."

"How can you be so cruel, Sam? How can you-"

"He's gonna die!" Sam whispered, turning to Bobby, and the man saw the tears trickling their way down the boy's face, staining the skin just as they did when Dean almost died in the car crash, when he almost lost his brother because of his heart. "He's gonna die and leave me here all alone. I don't want to be alone again, Bobby. I tried it before, and it was painful, and it hurt, and I don't want to go through that again. I don't think I'd ever come out of it."

They both heard heavy breathing and soft feet slowly making their way towards them. Two collective gasps left their mouths as Dean joined them, almost falling beside his brother. "I don't want to die," he whispered to his brother, a secret between them like they used to when they were kids. "I don't want to die. I want to fight. But I can't do it alone."

"You wouldn't have to," Sam assured him, and Dean nodded.

Somehow, they'd find a way.

Everything would be okay.

-fini-


End file.
